I’ve decided that starting one’s day by reading the paper is as pleasant as waking up every morning to a symphony of your beloved’s bodily noises as they blatantly scratch their behind, grunt and roll over onto the most comfortable arc of their beer gut.
I’d much rather my world begin with intrigue and subtlety, then ever so slowly reveal its flaws as the day rolls on. You know, a day that wines and dines me a little.
My proposed solution? News delivery via attractive maidens and/or suited gentlemen, each hired to hand out gloom-sequential newspaper pages, accompanying treats and sporadic embraces throughout one’s day.
I will write to The Sun accordingly.
I transport myself back one month ago today. I am in Seville, standing at a bus stop as normally as I used to wait for the 409 to school, my backpack just super-sized; the creased leaves of its textbooks now replaced with the entwined ball of sleeves and leggings moulded into it over many a rushed exit. Its pockets are still stuffed with artsy fartsy cafe postcards, only- one is in Deutsch, the other in Français, and the rest in Español. I am smiling at the ground. The last two months manage to squeeze themselves into minutes, and the polaroids of rivers, lanes, buildings, market stalls, bars, restaurants, hostels and mostly, people’s faces, ebb along with the traffic. I feel my feet touch the ground and almost need to stop myself from smiling out loud (SOL-ing?) when I remember I’m finally here, in that big old Europe place, and ever so much more finally, here, in the South of Spain.
—-
That was the last day of my first significant bout of independent travel. The last few hours before I found myself flown back to London, where the degree dropped twenty times and my backpack and I sat in the corner of a living room giving each other acknowledging looks of social awkwardness as we quietly observed the chatter between close friends.
It was strange. Despite my warm reception, I couldn’t shake the gloom that crept over me. As if the frost had found secret pores in which to infiltrate my emotional senses. The nomadic fire was snuffed. It really did feel like I had just been whisked back to Kansas. I knew I had to snap out of it. I made an effort to insert myself back into society. I spoke. I laughed. I ate dinner. I slept. But the hunger for my humble version of Oz was incessant.
—-
It’s funny how inconsistently time and capacity work.
Here I sit, a month later and my memory to day ratio has decreased dramatically. No longer do I rush out in hopes to not waste the hours I could be using to see this and this (and God forbid I miss THAT) like a freshly painted machine, programmed solely to See and Do and Savour.
Instead, I lurk around a house that is not my own, hiding from the cold and forming an addiction to Friends’ Walls. I scroll routinely through the same handful of jobs on the Internet that the Christmas period cares to offer. I am tormented by a chest infection which has decided to take over my will to function physically not to mention ability to speak. I’m experiencing real, heart-wrenching homesickness for the first time. I’m like a cold little vegetable.
Kris the Frozen Broccoli.
What does one call this half-arsed state of mine? It’s not travelling, though I’m overseas. It’s not living abroad, because I haven’t set up my life here yet. I guess upon embarking on this lone adventure I’d prepared myself for many things- stagnancy just wasn’t one of them. I’m coming to accept it as one of those underrated yet essential ingredients in everything good. Like the naked string between two pearls. Or the queue before an awesome funpark ride. Or the break before the crescendo of a classic rock ballad.
All I know is my momentum has been lost for a while now and I need to get it back. So New Year, I ask of you one tiny but vital thing:
Move me again?
(This was written during a volunteer experience at Wangee Park School with my lovely friend Mimz)
Humans are always seeking or anticipating the discovery of worlds different to this one. Earth, the wee ball on which we scurry to bus-stops, push along red-handled supermarket trolleys, shatter a cumulative amount of glassware during evening celebrations, has apparently been figured out enough to go cultivate our curiosity elsewhere.
***
I have been spun around this last year. The spinning had me sent to a pretty far-off land (namely, South America) where I was spun even more and returned to my point of origin where I now remain- still accelerating with fair rapidity, yet unable to move off this here dot on the planet. Yet again. But this two hundred billionth return to inertia isn’t my point this time round. (A friend’s ear is a much better receptacle for whinings of the sort; their words- e.g. “Ah shut up Kris, quit thinking too much and do something about it..”- better balm.)
No- it’s more like: the spinning, the 360-degree rotations, have allowed me to look at our little ball in these cool, new angles. And now I’ve in fact stumbled upon an array of other worlds that happen to be revolving on this one right here. Alls I had to do was stand on my head a bit to see them properly.
One of these newly discovered planets is called Zahra. It takes the form of a little girl, usually situated under pretty hairclips and directly behind a grin bearing the power to weaken knees at first sight. The world of Zahra is a unique one to say the least. If I were to participate in a Zahra-based university trivia night for instance, it’d probably go something like:
Q: What do we use to walk around?
A: Wheels!
Q: What do we need to eat our meals?
A: A spoon or a fork… and a pair of hands to hold them up to my mouth for me!
And so on- each answer like a heavy stamp, drowning the world in dark, blue ink. But planet Zahra herself seems to not feel so much the predicament she’s in. Never have I had the pleasure of experiencing such hearty laughs coming out of nowhere. Such sparkly eyes- smiling eyes. Such mysterious, wonderful joy dancing on a foggy moor of unfair disadvantages. It brightens my day & my soul so much to be the recipient of her surprises. I wonder at the fact that she too must have some special kind of perspective… on mine and other worlds. (and from the looks of things, she must find us hilarious!)
***
I’m not certain, but I think, really think, that I’m developing some kind of explorer’s syndrome. Of worlds within our world such as what I’ve mentioned here. I want to surround myself with these good & amazing people that have now proven themselves to exist. My experience, though I’ve thus far only dabbled, has shown that most in turn gather their strength & spirit through the good & amazing people around them. It’s just like this. People need people. Each person has something to give and receive. There are never too few people to assist nor too many that need assistance. The problem is that most have the whole action down as being complicated, when it’s just so simple and intrinsic.
At the school, I’m constantly thanked for giving up some of my free time to be there- I don’t believe they believe that the pleasure really is all mine.
